


Swept Up in Your Hurricane

by aponderingcharming



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pining, Pre-Established Romanogers, Romance, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aponderingcharming/pseuds/aponderingcharming
Summary: Natasha gets hurt on a mission and Steve really, truly faces how he feels about her.
Relationships: Black Widow/Captain America, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 5
Kudos: 137





	Swept Up in Your Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thought of this the other day and just decided to write it down. Turns out I really enjoy writing for these two. Anywho, hope you enjoy it!

Steve spotted the shooter a half-second too late.

In all of the chaos of fists and firepower, the masked assailant had managed to break away under the cloak of distraction and obscure himself behind some foliage on the nearby hill. In the back of his mind, Steve knew something was amiss; there seemed to be a gap, a little extra breathing room between punches, but he charged on nonetheless, fending off a number of _suspiciously_ highly-trained, highly-skilled fighters. They were sharp and they were quick, their fighting style constantly changing and adapting to whatever the need was, and it was tough to keep up with what was coming next. The super serum coursing through his body, which would usually give Steve the upper-hand in combat, seemed to just be adequate in doing its job – and that didn’t sit right with him. These guys were almost like super soldiers themselves. It was only when he heard a distinct, short rustle from behind him that he realized what had slipped his attention.

And he realized that he was too late.

Natasha was fighting a few metres away, swinging and sloping her way around from person to person, barely letting anyone get a firm hit on her but making sure that she was leaving a trail of injury in her wake. Her moves were always so fluid, so nimble and lithe. Like she was dancing and everyone else was her partner, trying to match and keep up her rhythm – and utterly failing in doing so. Steve often thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever beheld.

The crack of the bullet as it whizzed through the air towards her was almost deafening and all Steve could do was watch on helplessly as Natasha’s dance came to an abrupt end. It was almost as if everything had gone into slow-motion: Natasha jerked upwards with the force, her back arching and stretching before she dropped onto her knees, and then crumpled to the ground. Steve could practically _feel_ the cackle of her aggressors whose once stricken and grimaced expressions had now transformed into sadistic smirks.

Without another thought, he sprang into action, _seeing_ _red_.

Eyes alight and muscles burning, the soldier in him took over and whatever had inhibited him and gave him pause before had now dissipated completely and all that was left was just pure strength, will and determination. He promptly and decisively dealt with each and every person that got in his way in a matter of moments –including the hidden shooter; he got a face full of shield and, boy, did that feel satisfying – and then sprinted over to her unmoving body that lay limp on the dusty ground.

“ _Nat_!” he yelled, sliding onto the ground and gathering her into his arms whilst also keeping a keen watch in case anyone had started to rouse. Thankfully, it was a still scene. His fingers frantically searched for a pulse and he sighed in relief when he felt the defiant thrum under his touch. “Oh thank God,” he breathed to himself. Blood was seeping through her suit in a steady flow and Steve made sure to apply pressure with the base of his hand.

“Guys, can anyone hear me? Nat’s been hit. Guys!” he shouted into the comms. “We need to be extracted, she needs medical attention. Can anyone hear me?” He waited a few seconds, his breath heavy and laboured. She still wasn’t moving. “Tony? Anybody? We’re about 3 miles north from the base….” Steve examined the area, looking for a place to take cover. “I need to move her. We need to get out of plain sight. Does anybody copy?”

Frustrated with the silence on the other end and ignoring the foreboding sensation in the pit of his stomach at what silence at the other end could mean, Steve steadied himself and positioned Natasha in such a way that he was cradling her, and rose to his feet. She looked so small and helpless in his arms. If you didn’t know her, it’d be hard to wrap your head around the fact that she could kill you in probably thousands of different ways in the space of a couple of seconds. He adjusted her again so that her head rested against his heart. “I’ll get you out of here, Nat,” he said quietly, giving one last look around for any signs of danger, and then started walking.

There was an old, run-down, abandoned-looking motel not too far out of his eye-line and he carried her the whole way there, feeling uneasy at how calm his surroundings were. There wasn’t a sound to be heard for what felt like miles. No traffic, no rustling, no chatter. Not even birds were singing.

“Guys,” he announced again into the comms, willing for someone – _anyone_ –to hear him, “I’m taking her to a motel approximately fifteen minutes by foot from our last location. It’s called Motel Sol. Please…” he paused, tired, “if anyone hears this, please come get us. I’m not sure how bad her wound is. Her pulse is steady but she’s unresponsive. We need to regroup.” He sighed again, feeling like he was totally alone.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her shot, but this time it felt different. They had only really started to get to know each other back then, only starting to trust one another. Now? Well, now it was different. They were close. She was probably the closest friend he had – not that he’d ever admit that to her. Not that she’d even believe him either; Natasha didn’t really believe that she deserved friends - or anything good in her life. That part he always struggled with. After all this time, after all the work she put into saving people and righting wrongs and maintaining fairness and order, she still didn’t see herself as anyone worthy of, well, anything. It was like she had a salvation checklist a thousand miles long that she ensured she’d never truly complete. That was the thing about Nat though: she was her own worst enemy. Steve just wished she could see herself the way the others saw her. The way _he_ saw her.

His bond with her had shifted over time. They had each become something for the other over the years; a balance, a new perspective, a confidante. But sometimes, Steve allowed himself to pretend what it’d be like if he ever told her how he really felt. How his feelings for her had moulded and shaped into these new feelings he didn’t know he could still feel after all this… _time_ , after everything he had lost when he went into the ice. And he didn’t even realize it was happening most the time. It would strike him suddenly; in an uptick of her lips, a softening in her stare, a joke, a warm, genuine laugh, a playful elbow to the ribs, a surprising gesture, a real conversation. By the time he figured out what was going on, he was too far gone. _Way_ too far gone.

Now he couldn’t – and never wanted to – imagine a life without her.

Now he had something to lose.

Steve climbed the steps of the motel, taking note of the eight rooms that lined the corridor. He chanced a brief glance over the balcony at the scene of their battle; most of the attackers were still knocked out and on the ground, their weapons splayed sporadically around them. An exasperated sigh escaped him. Those men should have been arrested and dealt with. _Where was his team?_

The sun was setting now and it hung lazily just above the horizon, teasing its descent, splashing burnt oranges and husky shades of pink and lavender across the sky in this beautiful, poignant display. If it was any other time, in any other life, it may have been one of the most stunning things Steve had ever seen.

Yet when he looked down at Natasha’s unresponsive state, his heart tugged at the clash and helpless, crushing fear broke over him in thick waves.

Steve turned towards the rooms again and opted for room 6, kicking it open. The door flung wide, colliding with a table that seemed to be situated against the wall and bounced back on him as he walked through. He angrily kicked it out of his way again with much more vigour, forcing it to close itself this time. He felt the tiniest bit of release in the action. The room looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades but he didn’t have time to take much stock of it once his eyes fell on the bed. It was situated against the far wall, adorned with olive green floral sheets that looked like something his mom would have had on her bed back in the ‘30s.

Rushing over to the bed, he then delicately laid Natasha’s body down, extra cautious with his arms as he slipped them out from under her. “Come on, Nat, open your eyes,” he whispered as he pulled down the zipper of her suit. “I’d love to know what you’d say if you caught me doing this,” he quipped half-heartedly as he worked it down enough so that he could pull it over her shoulder once he angled her a little higher.

A sharp hiss of breath shot out of him as he appraised her wound. The bullet went clean through – _thank God_ _-_ but she was still bleeding so much. Flicking his gaze around the room as if the inanimate objects would somehow give him a sign of what to do next, Steve rubbed his eyes, wiling himself to focus. “Come on, Steve, you know what to do.”

And suddenly, as though his brain had _finally_ clicked into gear, he spotted a tear in the corner of the bedsheet. Without any more hesitation, he took hold of it in his hands and easily ripped off a long piece that could pose as a bandage. Crouching back over her, he shifted her oh-so-gently onto her side so that he could wrap the cloth around and around and around until he was satisfied that it was tight enough and the blood had nowhere else to go, and tied a sturdy knot with the loose ends. It wasn’t the prettiest attempt at staunching a wound but Steve would sure as hell take it right now.

“You know, bullet wounds and blood are kind of more of your thing. I might need you to teach me a few things when we get back,” he murmured to her, wanting to keep their line of communication open, as he rested her onto her back again. A loose lock of her hair slewed across her face with the movement and before he could form the urge to stop himself, he leaned over and tentatively brushed it back behind her ear, letting his thumb lightly sweep over cheek just once. Her forehead softly pinched under the touch and he wondered if she was about to wake up but as he waited for those piercing green eyes to open and possibly scold him for the contact, it smoothed out again. A tired, longing sigh forced its way out of him.

When he pulled back to stand upright, he couldn’t help but notice how small she looked under the shadow of his towering frame. If he was being honest, and he never felt embarrassed to admit it, but most of the time it was _her_ who was protecting _him_ ; it almost felt weird for him to be doing the protecting now. Natasha was just always _there_. Any time he seemed outnumbered, on the back-foot or at a loss as to what his next move would be, he’d turn around and she’d already be there making her presence known. Or he’d hear the rasp of her voice or a beguiling jest from somewhere in the distance alerting him that help was on the way. She was just _always_ there for him. And now it was his time to return the favour and he was going to make damn well sure that she was taken care of until he could figure out what to do next.

Dank, musty air worked its way in and out of his lungs for a few moments while he tried to keep himself focused. Steve knew that their targets were still at large, probably regrouping, and probably nearby. He needed to make sure they kept a low profile so he went over to the window and drew the blinds, and then went to every light in the room and made sure it was switched it off aside from the dull lamp on the locker beside the bed that just barely illuminated the space Natasha took up. He didn’t want her to wake up to total darkness.

She was going to be okay. He knew that. He just…he needed someone to contact them. They needed to get out of here. 

And the room was so warm. Too warm. That kind of warm that you think you’re comfortable in but then when you spend a decent amount of time in it, you realise that’s it’s actually suffocating. It’s sticky, and wet, and heavy. Boy did he wish he was not wearing his suit right then. While it was built to be breathable, it wasn’t all that much use in dense heat. It was only then that he realized that he was still wearing his helmet. “Rogers, you are really not with it,” he told himself with a shake of the head, allowing himself a self-deprecating laugh.

He removed the helmet and placed it on the table and then ran his hands though his hair, feeling more than a little alarmed at how rattled he was with this whole thing. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he just hadn’t been himself all day. Even during the fight he couldn’t gain any sense of rhythm; always felt to be one step behind and slow off the mark. And it angered him. Every movement felt laboured, even the combinations of punches and kicks he had administered countless times seemed to skid across rather than land with the force intended.

He _really_ should have spotted the shooter sooner.

“Let me guess…” came a voice from behind him, “…you’re beating yourself up over what happened.”

Steve whipped around to see Natasha squinting at him from where she lay.

_She_ _was_ _awake._

“Wha-”

“It’s a waste of time, Rogers,” she said with a grimace.

He was over to her side in an instant, positioning himself on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

She swallowed hard, blinking heavy. “Well I’m pretty sure I’ve just been shot but yeah, apart from that, I’m doing just swell.”

A breathy chuckle escaped him at that. Trust Natasha Romanoff to make a joke at a time like this. “Are you hurting? Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?”

She glanced down at his make-shift bandage that was covered in her blood at this point. But it looked like the bleeding had slowed dramatically. “Nice job,” she commented wryly, the slightest of smirks creeping onto her face.

“Hey, I never claimed to be good at this kind of stuff,” he defended quickly. “I did what I had to do. You should be thanking me,” he tagged on with a grin.

“I’ll make sure to give you lessons you when we get back. Can’t have Captain America clueless when it comes to dressing wounds.”

“Okay, okay, I’m just out of practice, that’s all.” And then suddenly, “Wait, could you hear me?”

She closed her eyes for a second. “Sort of. You sounded far away.” She paused. “But trust me, you wouldn’t have been able to handle what I would have said to you if I had caught you undressing me.”

Eyes wide, Steve gulped and tried to ignore the way her words made him feel. The implication in the undercurrent of her comment was unmistakable. It was already too warm for this liking but now it was…now it was _much_ warmer. Unable to stop himself, he met her gaze. There was this obvious glimmer in her eyes; a teasing, but also something _else_. Something he had never seen before.

They stared at each other for a few long beats and though he desperately wanted to quip something back to keep their banter flowing and break whatever had come over them, he found himself completely floundering about for words. Truthfully, he was just so relieved that not only was she awake and seemingly okay, she was still herself and she was with him. And he didn’t mean that in a grand, romanticised kind of way, just in the simplest sense of the thought: he loved being around her, and if he was to be stranded in an old and out-dated motel, then he couldn’t think of anyone else that he’d rather be with.

Thankfully, Natasha was keen on keeping them on track even though the tone in her own voice had made a shift, too. He tried not to think too much about what that could mean either. “Could you help me sit up? It’s really hard to look up at you from this angle.”

“Oh yeah, of course. Sorry,” he muttered.

He stood then and reached down so that one arm was tucked under her knees as the other glided gently under her upper torso. The woman used her good arm to grab onto him as an anchor and used the strength she had left in her legs to assist him in getting her seated upright. Drawing in deep breaths to assuage the pain, she winced as she got into her desired position, lolling just a bit to the side as though the rocking movement could soothe her.

“You don’t need to apologise, Steve,” she said seriously, all façade and joking pushed aside.

His brow furrowed. “I-”

“You don’t need to apologise,” she repeated more sternly. “For anything.”

Steve sat back down on the bed, keeping his eyes on her. “I should have seen him. The shooter. I knew something was wrong and I don’t know how I let him slip away.”

“Why do you think you should have seen him? It’s not like you didn’t have your hands full.”

“I’m usually really perceptive about these things,” he answered even though he knew it was weak.

He couldn’t tell her the real reason. He couldn’t tell her that he would do anything to make sure she was okay. That he hated the fact that he couldn’t be there to save her. That he hated that he couldn’t protect her. That he would never forgive himself if something worse had happened to her. That he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.

That he loved her.

He should have been paying more attention.

Natasha appraised him with soft eyes, eyes that looked like they could see right through him and everything he was saying. He loved those eyes; eyes that were so open and genuine. They came out so rarely and mostly only to him.

“I didn’t see him either, Steve,” she whispered. “Just because you’re Captain America doesn’t mean that you have to be everywhere at once. You don’t always have to save the day and make everything okay. Sometimes things just happen. And we have to be okay with that.”

The man chuckled and ducked his head, abashed. “Figures. You’ve been shot and you’re giving _me_ a pep talk.”

Natasha smiled, arching a cool eyebrow. “You must be rubbing off on me. Just don’t get used to it.”

He could have let the moment sink and end just there, let the words just drift off into some echo of memory and push on to the next thing – she sounded like she was ready to - but something inside of him just wouldn’t let him. Instead, he found himself confessing. “I just hated that I wasn’t there in time. That I couldn’t protect you. You know, you are…” he looked up, met her wide stare that seemed…wary and frightened? – and balked, “… _we’re_ partners and I feel like I failed you.”

Her eyes remained unmoved. They bore into his as if trying to read everything he wasn’t saying and any other time he would have broken the trance, flinched under the scrutiny, but there was just the tiniest part of him that wanted her to see it all behind the words. He was feeling brave; braver than he ever had. He came close to losing her today – a couple of inches lower and that could have been it. And though he had no idea if she even felt a breath of what he felt for her, he wanted her to know that he saw her and he chose her, despite it all.

Licking her lips, she kept her voice just teetering above a whisper. “You didn’t fail me. That’s the life we lead, Steve. We chose this. This life, this job. It comes with risks. It comes with the chance that someone might not make it back. It always has.” She stopped then, unsure. She was still in pain, moving a little more to the side and barring her teeth for a beat before continuing. “And like you said, we’re partners. I’ve got your back and I know you’ve got my back but sometimes we can’t always be where we want to be. So please don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know, I - you just…you mean a lot to me, Natasha.”

If he didn’t know any better, Steve thought he heard her heart quicken.

“I know.” With some hesitation, her hand reached out to graze his knuckles. It was as light as a feather but it was enough to set every sense of his on fire. “I worry about you, too.” This time she turned away and broke the contact, the sincerity of her words prompting her to retreat away from his gaze. And the sincerity was undeniable. He breathed a little stronger and let the truth fill him with just enough hope.

“Nat,” he started, swallowing. “I think I need to tell you something and I don’t know what you’re gonna think of it…”

Her head snapped back, eyes shining with what he thought was understanding yet the edges were tinged with dread. Her voice was tender, afraid. “Steve…” she prayed and he thought he could live off that sound for the rest of his life. “Just…just not now, okay?”

It was a plea.

She knew what he was going to say but she couldn’t hear it now. She wasn’t ready.

But that gave him hope.

Hope that there would be one day where she might be ready.

An understanding sigh tripped from his lips and he gave her his warmest smile, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. He never wanted her to feel uncomfortable around him. He wanted to be the safest place for her. She smiled back, full. He nodded then, rubbing his hands on his legs, using the action to change the atmosphere but also to release whatever it was that was happening in his body.

“Well,” he declared, his voice stronger now, “I think you better get some rest. I haven’t heard from anyone but I think once you’ve taken it easy for a while, our best bet is to make a break for it and head back to base just before sunrise.”

“Yeah, I think that’s smart,” she agreed.

“Okay.” Steve stood up from the bed, grunting a little. He didn’t realize how tired his own muscles were.

“Wait, where are you going to sleep?” she quizzed.

He gestured loosely to the chair.

Natasha shook her head. “No way are you going to sleep on that. Come on.” She beckoned him over to the bed as she scooted haphazardly against the wall and slid down with extra caution into somewhat of a lying position. “You can sleep on the outside so if someone comes to get us during the night, they’ll get you first.”

“Oh, nice,” he chuckled. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well if I’m fighting the bad guys what are you gonna be doing?”

“Well while you’re toughing it out, I’m obviously going to escape,” she replied sweetly.

“Oh well I suppose as long as you escape that’s all that matters.”

“Yep. See this is why we make the best team.” Despite the tease, her smile was real. And it reached her eyes, drawing the same from him in reply.

Before joining her, Steve took the two chairs in the room and the chest of drawers and shoved them up against the door. No point in taking any chances. He then turned off the last light and carefully lowered himself down onto the bed, making sure as to not brush off her side as he did so and feeling way too large for this modestly-sized motel cot. Something like this wasn’t made for anyone slightly above average height.

In the dark he could feel the weight of their conversation hovering over them. He ached to pull her flush to him and wrap his arms around her. He longed to know what it would feel like to have her head rest against his chest and to feel her fingers dance across his arms.

And then, as if she could read his mind, he felt her hand slip into his. The move was easy and smooth, as if they had done this a million times. She pumped it twice in assurance and he wasted no time in returning the response. Her skin was softer than he expected; there were callouses on some of her fingers – from the guns probably, but when he ran his thumb along her palm, he revelled in the silky feel, relishing in the chance of getting to know a part of her body intimately.

As their hands did this dance, they each drifted off to sleep.

A couple of hours later, a buzz from his comm woke Steve.

“Cap? Can you hear me? We’re on route. Stay in position.”

He looked over at Natasha who was still sleeping, looking less troubled than she had in some time. “Roger that,” he returned.

He looked down at their intertwined hands and finally let lose a relieved breath. They were going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, means a lot! Hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
